Crescendo
by ChewyKookie
Summary: Between chimed keys and inflected strings something came to life between them- something of another lifetime, wistfully foreign yet achingly familiar. Like billows of smoke, the awakened emotions seemed to suffocate him, obscure his vision with a forgotten haze, until he wasn't sure where he stood- if was living now, or then, or perhaps somewhere in between. Rivamika week: rebirth.


**Another one from my tumblr account for rivamika week! This prompt was a little hard to come up with, but when my sister showed me **_**this**_** and **_**this**_**, I was struck by inspiration (because I've **_**always**_** wanted to write a music academy fic lol). It starts off a little slow, and definitely lags at some points, but I swear it gets better as you read. Hope you guys enjoy! ^_^**

_**Rivamika week, day 4: daffodils/ narcissus**_

_**Prompt: Rebirth**_

_**Summary: He was a musician, and with every powerful press and glide of his fingers he would bend the very atmosphere, beautifully fabricate another world of his own. She was a prodigy,**_ _**stunningly articulate as she seemed to alter the very air around her **__-And for a moment it wasn't a bow in her hand but a sword, one that severed flesh and with every arc and lunge created destruction instead of music; a kind of controlled chaos that had once mimicked his own, a righteous hunger that had once upon a time slayed giants and protected little villages._ _**Suddenly he wasn't sure where he stood- if was living now, or then, or perhaps somewhere in between.**_

* * *

The moment she walked into the amphitheater, he knew that something was different.

She entered with grace and confidence, seeming to burn with a resolve that was quite rare amongst students. Spine straight, breathing steady, body relaxed; all things elegant and efficient, the very makings of- _a woman worth a hundred soldiers-_ no, his brow furrowed, a _prodigy_, he stressed to himself, trying to block out those distant inklings in his head. They had been plaguing him for what seemed like years- in his thoughts, in his dreams, at the very edges of his mind on every waking hour- but it had grown more throbbingly persistent the moment she had stepped onstage.

His eyes caught onto the red scarf winding around her neck, seeming to flare almost crimson in the faded lighting of the room; something that seemed to be so tied within her identity that he could have sworn he had perceived it once before. But then he was once more transfixed by her grey eyes, ones that seemed to glint like steel. There was such fire and spite in her gaze _-a spite that made his blood boil but his heart soar_- and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't ignore this insistent clawing at the back of his mind; that even though he had never met this girl before, had never even _seen_ her in his life, he knew her from some distant place and time.

She would be the last audition for the day, and he wanted to heave a sigh of relief at the thought. For nearly three hours he had sat there and watched a series of cringe worthy, nerve grating performances, and if it hadn't been his turn to supervise them he would have just dumped them on Erwin and Hange's hands (he'd been half tempted to leave mid audition, but then he would never hear the end of it from the damned pair.) He hadn't bothered to read her transcripts or the impressive resume that Erwin had given him, only sparing a glance at her surname before observing with an almost bored countenance. He hadn't bothered to make a good impression on their first meeting, hadn't bothered to conceal his condescending looks or his derisive words. That was perhaps the reason behind her instant antagonism towards him, but he had only thrived on her acidic glares (because, somehow, these sardonic exchanges between them were all too familiar).

He watched now, vaguely interested, as the girl before him slid out a violin from its case, polished and dark in all its glory. Her chin rose confidently, in a thinly veiled challenge, and the image of her in that moment struck a chord deep within him, one that transcended music and to another existence entirely. Just as she settled her instrument onto her collar and her arm poised to create music, his hand abruptly rose up and halted her performance.

"Ackerman," he acknowledged without so much of a glance. "Let's do something a little different," he announced, though it was more of a command than a suggestion. He ignored her icy glare, instead calmly walking towards the grand piano onstage. His fingers brushed against one of the keys, creating a deep, baritone note that echoed in the amphitheater. "I'm going to play something, and you'll do your best to catch up. See if you can stay in sync with my tune and rhythm."

"With all due respect, _sir_, I don't remember that being part of audition requirement." She replied, animosity- and even a bit of uncertainty- apparent in her voice.

"It isn't," he conceded, "but seeing as I'm the only spectator here, the audition is mine to control." Because the conductor and the composer had exited- the first with a warning and the latter with a grin- and had left the prodigy under the musician's power. With an uncaring shrug, he turned to give her an almost bored expression. "Unless, of course, you don't want to. Then by all means," he gestured mockingly to the mahogany doors, "leave."

It had been the right thing to say because suddenly her eyes flashed and the uncertainty in her gaze was chased away by a challenging, determined look. If she wanted a challenge, he would give her one; if she wanted the title as a prodigy, he would push her to her very limits, break her, and then see if she could uphold her own name. With that thought in mind his gaze retracted to the sleek piano before him, hands tracing over its glossy black edges. From an early age he had been like her, a prodigy, and had long since conquered almost any instrument he had gotten his hands on. Yet, there was something hauntingly beautiful about the grand piano, something entrancing and bittersweet about its sound that it had always remained his favorite instrument to play. It gave him power, the way it was apart from the orchestra yet had its own lone existence in the theater. It was oddly similar to his own person.

In all his years of playing, no one had ever conquered this particular song, not one had matched his pace and rhythm beat by beat. It wasn't about speed, or strength, or how accurate each note sounded- it was about the raw intensity that tune had to play out, something carnal and powerful and _moving_. But something insistently told him that she could handle it, that she would far surpass others if given the chance, and for once he caved to the voice and seated himself down before the grand piano. With nothing more than a glance in her direction he began, an airy but substantial harmony coming to life behind the keys, one that bled thickly into the atmosphere.

The melody started out slow, almost lulling, but soon the notes collided into one another, and then his fingers were gliding fluidly, precisely, swiftly across the piano's length, creating a quick series of notes that seemed to come alive beneath his hands. For nearly a minute it was only the sound of delicate piano keys enchanting the room and his gaze shifted to the girl on stage, curious. He found that her form had abruptly stiffened, eyes glazing forlornly in a way that mirrored his own, dark and hazed and utterly pained. For a moment he felt a near crushing disappointment in his chest as he watched her still form, unmoving and momentarily lost. But then she breathed, and suddenly her spine straightened and her arms rose, and when her bow slid across the strings in a slow, certain thrust-

He was blown away.

There was a grace in which she manipulated the strings, the notes resounding deeply, richly, but also with something far beyond that. Delicate fingers strummed the strings along her instrument's neck, across the length of its fingerboard, heightening and enriching the pitch to cushion his own. And the way her arms moved, forceful and powerful, stunningly articulate as she seemed to alter the very air around her -_And for a moment it wasn't a bow in her hand but a sword, one that severed flesh and with every arc and lunge created destruction instead of music _- A kind of beauty and strength he had seen before in nostalgic imaginings- _a kind of controlled chaos that had once mimicked his own, a righteous hunger that had once upon a time slayed giants and protected little villages-_

In that moment he knew he had found his perfect sync, and suddenly the melody seemed to reach an entirely higher sanding, harmonized between chimed keys and inflected strings. He lost himself as he always did with music, stretching notes with every press of his heel against the damper pedal and controlling the tune with the soft pedal's own quiet might. For the next several minutes there was only a resonating melody, only flurried movements and dramatic presses as the music escalated beyond its previous glory. It seemed to blanket the very room, veiling the two with faraway recollections of a different time. Images flashed through his mind, ones he had only seen vaguely in his slumber, ones that he swore he'd never experienced yet seemed achingly familiar- _of an impossible war and a bittersweet lifetime, of blood and death but also of hope and endurance-_ They whirled in his subconscious just as the tune twirled in the empty auditorium, spinning and flourishing to an all-time high before descending to mellow notes and gentle farewells.

But just as the final notes died away something in him shifted, and suddenly his fingers glided again across the keys, creating a tune that had haunted his mind for years, music that only he knew yet seemed to want to resonate in the space between them. For a second her eyes widened and she faltered, unsure, but he remained unconcerned- _for she had faltered time and time again in the past, but had never failed to dauntlessly stand again-_ and instead continued his light tune, even as its notes seem to resound with bittersweet sadness.

And just like he expected, her fingers adjusted, her back bent, and then her bow slid against the violin's wooden body, mirroring the soft melancholy harmony floating in the air_- like feathers_, a voice murmured in his mind, _like tattered wings and whispered goodbyes-_

_-"I don't want to die, Levi," her voice for once was vulnerable and afraid, wavering in a million different feelings she dared not show on her face, and all he wanted to do was reach for her- to touch her, dammit- and comfort her even as those very emotions crushed his own lungs. "Is that selfish of me?"_

"_Of course not," he'd scoffed, "Nobody wants to die too fast," he'd answered softly, reassuringly, and she had chuckled at how honest yet consoling he was, even as they knowingly lay at their death beds-_

His fingers seemed to have a life of his own now, fluttering and dancing across the piano with grace and precision, with growing power and consistency... but also with a distant memory, a somber remembrance that had long since been entombed within him yet suddenly seemed to rise from his very bones; Like billows of smoke, the awakened emotions seemed to suffocate him, obscure his vision with a forgotten haze, until he wasn't sure where he stood- if was living now, or then, or perhaps somewhere in between. His blue orbs betrayingly slid back to the girl's slender form, and once again that scarlet fabric around her neck captured his eye, seeming to suddenly burn brighter in the stage light, searing him, blinding him; it was piercing, he thought faintly, almost familiar, it was-

_- the same scarlet fabric that he clenched around his fist, desperately, because he couldn't touch her with the distance between their dying bodies, so he could only reach for her precious scarf, one that seemed to resemble the very blood blooming across her chest-_

And suddenly he realized she was crying, silver streams streaking down her cheeks even as the performance continued, reflecting his own grief even as his tears refused to spill (he'd never been one to cry, but he had never realized until then how utterly painful it was to be unable to). It almost seemed fitting- how ruinously beautiful she looked then, spine arched and body poised, arms vibrant and powerful with every chord she struck-

_-How ruinously beautiful she looked then, spine snapped and body broken, arms stiff and strong with every fist she clenched-_

Something in his chest convulsed at the vision, something desperate, and haunted, and grief stricken, and the notes seemed to dim with his feelings before launching back into an ecstasy. Climbing and climbing with each powerful press of his hands until it reached its limit, until the violin in her hands strung a final riveting note, and then the two hung a the devastatingly mournful crescendo. Then slowly, softly, the song sunk from its high, rolling back to softer rhythms and lighter harmonies- _reminding him of an end to some far off time, of a war won but of lives lost._

Finally her strings died away, and he was left to play the last few notes of the song, light and nostalgic as it faded to silence. For a moment there was only harsh breathing between them, a moment in which they tried to compose themselves even as it was clear that they were falling apart at the seams. Slowly, he lowered his arms, noting how oddly stiff and thick his limbs felt, and he watched as she lowered the violin from her chin, eyes glassy and the knuckles around her bow almost white. She turned, slowly placing her instrument away with shaky hands, and he felt saddened watching the stoic girl wipe away her tears- _for it was always sad to see strength break and for warriors to become human again, if only for a moment._

_Not bad,_ he wanted to say, but as he lifted his head to acknowledge her he spilled forth words he had never graced any other with, "You play beautifully." Her own head snapped up at that, surprised, before she bowed it in return,

"As do you, your music was riveting." There was sincerity in her voice then, a soft admiration that was so unlike its previous sharp edges, and he felt something shift inside him at the words even as everything else remained rooted and troubled.

"Hm," he said noncommittally, and the two stayed there in silence for several minutes, saying nothing even as the air thickened with a foreign – _familiar?_ - charge. And then she spoke softly, confusedly, and even the slight bit reproaching.

"I heard it in your music, my song_. Utsukushiki Zankoku na Sekai_." she recited in fluid Japanese, though her voice was soft and slightly choked. "This Beautiful Cruel World." And he saw it then, the buried stories in her gaze, eyes seeming far too ancient and burdened for a face so young. He recognized the look, because it was the same one he wore for years- lost between worlds and histories of an old existence. He wanted to tell her that her tune had played itself continuously in his mind, but in only bits and pieces- as if to remind him of someone precious, yet also belonging to someone else entirely, not meant to be truly his. Instead he said nothing, staring down flatly, mournfully at his callused hands.

"That song," she murmured, wiping the remaining tears away from her eyes, "what is it called?"

"Great Escape," he muttered just as quietly, though the title seemed to echo in the empty auditorium, seeming to resonate with power and intensity of another life.

"And the last one?" She asked, and there was a look of desperation in her gaze then, so earnest and desolate that the name escaped his lips without a second thought.

"Reluctant Heroes." And there, right then, he saw it: something bloom across her irises, something achingly familiar, something burning and bubbling with misted clarity, of knowing, and when she repeated the title to herself softly something equally forlorn flashed across his mind-

_- She had laughed softly, finding a twisted sense of humor despite their bitter fate, and he faintly regretted not listening to the sound under better circumstances in the past. "What a pair of reluctant heroes we make, hm?"-_

And suddenly he stood, heaving, paying no mind as his fingers slammed incoherently into the piano, creating a monstrous anomaly that only reflected the turmoil inside him. He abruptly realized that his throat was parched and his lungs were shriveled, yet something was boiling beneath the surface- something that wanted to burst forth and howl its own crescendo, something nostalgic and compelling that had been locked away so dearly in his heart. He suddenly whirled on her, snarling, with such loathing and pain in his gaze that the girl flinched back in shock.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked lowly, dangerously, delving into something familiar- _as if donning a persona of a previous lifetime, of a ruined, sullied warrior_- but he shook those thoughts away with a frustrated growl. Who the hell was she, to suddenly enter his existence and entangle him with foreign images and familiar experiences? How the hell had it been _her_ face seared into his brain, how had it been _her_ steely eyes that had enraptured him so deeply upon first glance- _how had it been her, Ackerman, standing right there before him, even as he had witnessed her death a thousand times too many in his dreams?_ "Answer me, dammit!"

But she ignored his question completely, instead suddenly striding forward and outstretching her hand. A lost, tormented look flickered across her face, and even a bit of a simmering hope, and with a quiet reluctant voice she murmured, "I know you." Her fingers brushed against his hand, and suddenly her gaze cleared, and the scenery changed, and in a whirl their current world seeped away until the colors were blotched, until there were hulking figures in the distance and countless bodies littering the floor. Until flashes of glinting blades overcame his vision, of soldiers soaring and monsters falling, of humanity cheering even as they lay dying- Of her, _Mikasa_. "...Levi."

In a sudden panic he ripped his arm away, and the palpable pain in her expression made him falter- because he didn't know her, he tried to tell himself- even as the words were hollow lies now, even as everything in his being denied the statement, even as something in him continued to tear apart at the growing distance between them. She was crying again, silent tears cascading down her cheeks, and she frustratedly rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to dry them-_she wasn't one for tears he knew, and every time she broke down she'd feel vulnerable and ashamed, trying in vain to stifle her sobs, and he would in turn feel something in him chip away at the sight of it_- and he knew then that he had haunted her existence just as violently and bitterly as she had with him. With a determined, anguished glare she stepped forward and repeated her words, this time louder, and fiercer, and echoing with a truth they both knew was real.

"I know you, don't I?" Her voice cracked between sobs, filled with emotion and hints of forlorn longing.

_-"I'll find you, won't I?" Her voice croaked between gasps, filled with hope and hints of anguished knowing-_

No, he wanted to scream, even though he did. He knew her, because her face haunted him in his sleep, just barely there yet blurring away when he reached out to touch her- close enough to caress, but too far away to feel. It was because of this that he remained rooted to his spot, frozen, even as she took more hesitant, courageous steps toward his still form.

"...Captain," she murmured remorsefully, relievedly.

_-"Captain..." she whispered brokenly, lovingly-_

Finally something inside him shattered into a million iridescent shards, and that hole in his chest seemed to suddenly detonate, ripping and tearing him apart until it was a gaping, bleeding wound between his ribs. Inklings from his dreams- no, memories from another life seemed to flood forth in his mind, drowning and suffocating him with grief, and pain, and broken promises lost to time. But the moment she touched his sleeve the chasm appeared to mend; sewing and seaming itself together until there was only him, and phantoms, and a faint scar on his heart - _because it was her, it was Mikasa, she was here_- and this time he didn't tear himself away from her grasp.

And then her grey eyes lifted, and suddenly he was overcome by painstaking relief, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't part with her memory, couldn't push her away, and in that moment he fulfilled his promise-

_-And then her grey eyes lifted, and suddenly he was overcome by painstaking despair, because no matter how hard he tried his own battered, bloodied hand couldn't reach hers, and in that moment he swore to himself a promise-_

_"Yes," he coughed around the blood in his throat, against the shadows in his eyes, "You'll find me," he murmured with finality. 'I will find you' he thought determinedly, as darkness finally seized him-_

"Yes," he murmured around the lodge in his throat, against the blur in his eyes, "You know me," he said with clarity. 'I found you.' He thought dazedly, as he finally caved and swept her into his arms. Her own limbs immediately winded around his neck, and this time she didn't stifle her sobs as she cried relieved tears into his shoulder. For a long moment they stood there onstage, in an empty theater where they were spectacles to invisible crowds and a lost lifetime's ghosts.

"I found you, Levi." She hiccupped, though there was a smile in her voice now. The man scoffed softly, almost affectionately, and something in his chest uncoiled and expanded- warmth he hadn't known existed.

"Tch, took you long enough, brat." His words were harsh but his voice was oddly hoarse, and his hold on her only tightened in response. Her arms remained suspended on his shoulders as if to anchor him there, as if to keep him from disappearing from beneath her fingers, her hands running an unsteady rhythm up his neck and through his hair: languid and fervent, loving and desperate. His own fingers glided over silken tresses, fluttered over alabaster skin, trailed down the curve of her spine- trying to submit each to memory, trying to quench the sudden thirst he had for her but never seeming to satisfy himself.

This time, his reach was secure, his touch unfaltering; this time, he would not relinquish his hold on her.

* * *

**It lagged a bit at the end, but hopefully it's still decent. Hope you liked it! Reviews and critique are welcome!**


End file.
